Road to Redemption
by LadyShellshock
Summary: FE:Echoes Berkuts world has been turned upside down with the revelation of Alms true identity. Birthright demands Berkut to take a back seat. But not without a fight! As their weapons clash, it becomes clear that Alm still believes in equality and in the fact that he can take destiny into his own hands. Whose ideals will prevail as the two blue bloods fight each other?
1. A man broken by his ideals

_I never got the whole thing about 'the importance of social status' in FE:Echoes. At first it makes sense, but as soon as it's revealed that Alm is royalty it makes little sense. Because Berkut and Fernand are kinda right, since you couldn't have done many things without the royal blood in Alms veins. (the Royal sword, the treasure vault, Zeke)... things like that. But still, we are all for equality, are we not?_

 _So this is my attempt to save the equality theme of FE : Echoes..._

* * *

"It's not possible…" Berkut can hardly believe it, "Alm is the emperor's true son? Which makes him the rightful successor to the imperial throne. All this time… All the effort! What has it all been for?! …But, there is no denying fact. All my dreams and aspirations have been built on nothing but lies… Lies, lies, lies, lies, LIES!"

He finds himself beneath the duma tower in front of an altar made of flames.

"Is that…an altar? How did I get here? What's happening?"

"Heed me…" he hears a voice.

Confusion takes hold of him, "Who are y—" he tries to ask.

"Heed me," repeats the voice, "You who thirst for power… Call to me. Accept me unto your soul.

"That voice…" Berkut is genuinely puzzled, "Duma? Is it really you?"

Before the voice can speak further he hears a familiar voice, "Lord Berkut!"

"Rinea…"

Rinea approaches him, "I've been looking all over for you. This is the last place I would have expected to find you. You always hated the Faithful, after all."

"This is true…" he admits; but then he remembers the reason for all of this, "But then I had the throne snatched from under me by some magical heir. Plying the gods' mercies is what men do in hopeless situations, is it not?"

"I didn't mean…" stutters Rinea, "Forgive me. I shouldn't have said anything."

Berkut remains silent.

"Please don't despair so. Alm seems a kind and generous man. I'm certain he'll treat you fair."

"And I'm to be content with that?!" he snaps.

Rinea takes a step away from him, shocked to see him this aggressive, "Ah!"

"I wanted to BEAT him, Rinea!" Berkut rages, "To dispatch him and claim the throne! I wanted to make you my empress and hold all Valentia in our palms together! But what of those dreams now…? So I'm to live in this Alm's shadow? Throw myself upon his mercy? I would sooner an honorable death at the executioner's blade!"

"Berkut! You mustn't say such things," she chides. "It is not too late for our dreams to come true! You were born to lead! Have you forgotten that?! Even without crown or throne or castle… You are an emperor. I've fallen in love with a just, right, and noble man… not a boy who drowns himself in self pity and forgets his own strength and ideals!"

Berkut is stunned at first, but quickly regains his composure, "Rinea! Such words… what a wake-up call... Indeed, I have no need for divine favour. Forgive me, Rinea… You're right… You were always right."

That's when they hear frantic steps on the stone floor and Fernand approaches, out of breath.

"Lord Berkut!" he calls out, "Lord Berkut? There you are! Alm is on his way here! What are we to do?"

"What are we to do?!" he asks, almost pittying the knight, "Fight him, of course! We will show him our strength and make him see that because he is royalty, he too must show the commoners their place! Rinea, go and hide!"

"No, Berkut!" she objects, "Even so I dislike bloodshed, I will stay by your side this time around. We are in this together."

"Good," exclaims Berkut, "Then I cannot lose. Not with you by my side."

Meanwhile, Alm is making his way through the castle.

General Massena approaches him, "A moment, Prince Albein? I ask that you show Lord Berkut compassion. He weighed heavy on Emperor Rudolf's mind for many years. The emperor knew that keeping the boy in ignorance could only bring him pain. And yet, the prospect of your being discovered was too great a risk. Still, Berkut was his nephew, and the same age as the son he parted with. So I beg leniency of you, if only to respect Emperor Rudolf's wishes."

Alm promises to consider his words and to do what's best for both, Zofia and Rigel.

Without further delay, Alm and his friends enter Dumas tower and make their way through the endless corridors of the place.

Finally, Alm enters the altar room, his friends near by his side, giving him confidence.

The room is vast, and a big pit filled with flames draws the attention of those who enter. It is the altar of Duma.

And there, with his back turned to the flames, on his horse, awaits Berkut.

His black armor is far away and his figure is hazy in the eery light coming from the flames.

But Alm can see him.  
He can see his enemy in detail.  
That should be the same for Berkut with his hawk-eyes.

Berkut—the knight whose fate to become King Rudolfs successor has been snatched away from him by unforeseeable circumstances. One of the most powerful men, but rendered powerless. A contradictory existence. A man prepared to rule a country, yet unable to attain such thing.

All his efforts have been for naught. All his dreams, destroyed.

And the fact that he believes that one's station in life is dictated by one's birth must make the whole revelation all the more humiliating.

He must feel like he was the only one who did not realize, or refused to realize, Alms true identity.

As Alms group approaches, noble knights on their horses approach from every angle. Those must be Berkuts retainer, friends and even Fernand is among them.

They stay where they are, obviously waiting to receive orders from Berkut.

At last, Berkut speaks _, "_ You kept me waiting, Alm. Or should I say…Your Excellency? Perhaps Emperor Rudolf II of Rigel?"

"Berkut, listen to—", Alm starts.

"—Tell me," Berkut interrupts. "How does it feel to possess both Zofia and Rigel? I imagine it's wonderful, though it's a sensation I'll never know."

Alm is perplexed. "This isn't a conquest for me," he insists, "I have no illusions the people of Rigel will suddenly welcome me as their ruler. But my father placed this land in my care, and I'll do anything for it. Whatever it takes to keep Valentia's people safe."

Berkut listens in silence, his expression is guarded. It is very clear that something lurks beneath the surface.

"The path ahead is a difficult one for us all. So help us, Berkut," Alm continues, "Lend us your strength! Rigel's people trust and love you far more than me. You and I are cousins, after all. Family. I didn't think I had any family in this world, and yet, here you are. I know we can be close friends as well. Let's work together, Berkut. Put all we have toward ensuring all Valentia is—"

"Silence," Berkut bellows with all the authority expected from someone like him.

"Um…what?" Alm can hardly believe his ears.

"There is no need for a speech," Berkut explains smugly, "Of course you need me _._ You might have royal blood, but you still have the mind of a clodhopper... But worry not. I know it's not your fault. Those closest to you have betrayed and wronged you. Trust? Years of life lived together? All meaningless. I will help you find your true place in this world! I will make you see how wrong those villains were to make you believe that you are a mere peasant and I will show you how stupid and misguided your views on social hierarchy are! You are royalty! An emperor! And I will make you behave like one!"

Berkut charges at Alm, his halberd dangerously lowered. Before Berkuts weapon can impale Alm, he sweeps it aside with one fluid motion.

"Hngh!" Alm cries out, "But if that's your goal, then why, Berkut, why do you still want to kill me…!?"

"Kill you?!" Berkut can't help but laugh. "No! I want to _fight_ you! I want to _beat_ you! I have underestimated you all along the way because I thought you a peasant. How could I ever believe such a thing?! As if a mere peasant would have been able to defeat me! No, of course not!"

Berkut circles Alm on his horse, almost casually, but most certainly threateningly. Alm braces himself for another attack, his sword is readied and he shifts his stance continuously so that his back is never turned to Berkut. He observes Berkuts every move, but Berkut rambles on manically,

"You have never been a sheep, Alm. You've been a wolf all along! Beware... I've trained since our last meeting tirelessly and now that I know you are of royal blood I am ecstatic! My every movement will be perfect now that I can take you seriously! So let us fight one last time! If I win, Rigel will be mine! You can keep Zofia, for all I care. I will fight alongside you and once the fighting is done we will rule Valentia together as family! If I lose however, all of Valentia remains yours, I lend you my strength and knowledge. I will heed your orders. So, what do you say, cousin? Willing to fight?"

Lucas calm voice breaks the silence, "Alm, he is in no position to make demands. You mustn't make any such deal."

"Yeah Alm," Gray agrees, "You don't have to listen to him! Valentia already belongs to you. You are the rightful heir to the imperial throne. Don't let yourself be fooled!"

Berkuts anger flares at such words, "Easy, you little mongrel, know your place!"

"Berkut!" Alm exhorts, "Do not talk to him like that! Do you think I would have come this far if not for them, who I consider my closest friends?! My equals?!"

"Your equals?!" Berkuts spits "Don't make me laugh. Just because the idea consumes you, doesn't mean it's true. Don't make me guess as what you see yourself… A hero who has risen from the masses? A mere peasant that has attained immense power and wrought an entire kingdom from the hands of an evil king? You think that is your story?! NO! You were born with a divine calling to do those things! You pretend you are equal to those around you, that you are one of them, but in the end you are just a fraud. And your hypocrisy can not change this fact! You can never be their saviour, because you never belonged among them in the first place! You are the proof that in the end, everything comes down to birthright and divine providence! Pretending that they can accomplish the same things as you makes you nothing but cruel! Maybe now it is dawning on you, that you aren't their equal at all. You have always been different, isn't that the truth?"

Alm gasps and takes a step back, completely in shock, 'Is Berkut right? Am I nothing more than a fraud?' Doubts enter Alms soul, 'Am I a faker? I am nobility after all. That much is true. Could an ordinary man have come this far? ... Yes, of that I am certain. I didn't come this far just because of my bloodline. I believe that working hard and going through pain made me accomplish these deeds. And that's why I can't leave Berkut with that belief of his, because he'll end up cursing his life.'

Proving him wrong. That's about all Alm can do for Berkut. That's the only way he can repay his father. It might be a meaningless gesture, but still….

'I do it so that Berkut, whose memories are now tainted by lies, who has lost his position… can realize that his life is still something he can be proud of!'

"It might be true that my royal blood gives me abilities above those of ordinary men," Alm admits, "All of us might have been born with different abilities, but we strive to reach our full potential! In that we are equal! And it isn't I who is wrong. It is you! You don't seem to realize the future that awaits you along that treacherous path you are heading down. If you keep holding onto the belief that a person's station is predetermined by birth, you will be nothing but a lonely creature bound by the weight of its futile ideals. So I will fight you, Berkut! I will win! And I will prove you wrong once and for all!"

"Tsk!" Berkut scoffs. "That, Alm, is the height of hubris!"

Alm readies his sword. His usual valor and strength in his stance. He pulls himself together, kicks the ground, and charges at Berkut. Berkut raises his lance.  
The sharp edge of his halberd flashes as he swings it down onto Alm.  
And…

Alm blocks the down-swipe with his sword. The two weapons hook into each other. And even though he blocked the blow, Alm cannot move. Berkut presses down from his elevated position on his horse and Alm has difficulties keeping his arms steady. Berkut's axe blade will split his head in two if he loosens his grip on the sword.

"Hngh…!"

Alm puts more strength into his arms in an attempt to shove the halberd back. Sweat forms on his forehead and his breathing fastens.

In contrast, Berkut's breathing is normal.  
It is impossible for Alm to beat back Berkut while he is on his horse.

"This is it, Alm. It might have been different if you were in perfect condition, but you cannot fight on with your depleted strength. Yield!"

Alm doesn't answer and grits his teeth. His arms begin to shake under the strain.  
His warm gaze meets the cold stare of Berkut. Berkut shifts his body in an attempt to put more force behind his attack.

The muscles on Alm's arms bulge.

"How long are you going to hold on to those foolish ideals of yours?" Berkut says while his gaze suddenly seems far away. It seems like his mind is elsewhere.

His attack loosens up.

Using that opening, Alm gets up and kicks Berkut's horse with his freed leg.

The horse whinnies, bulges a bit and draws back. Their weapons dislodge. Berkut retakes control of the destrier easily.

"Even if my beliefs are founded on false premises," says Alm. "My convictions will not go away. I have sworn to protect these people, to fulfill my duties and to be their sword. We fight alongside each other, as equals. Those are my ideals that I cannot give up and I won't give them up no matter who's telling me to. That's right. That's why I decided… That as long as I draw breath, I will believe in my path!"

"SILENCE!" bellows Berkut and kicks his horse in the sides, charging at Alm. "I'm tired of listening to the pretty little lies you've been fed with since you were a child! Why would you try so desperately to become a hero of equality?!"

Just before the pointed end of the halberd hits Alm, he rolls out of the way.

"It's not that I'm trying to become a hero of equality," counters Alm, "it's that I will become one no matter what!"

Berkut simply steers the destrier around and attacks again.

"Alm, these ideals of yours aren't even your own! They are those of Sir Mycen! You're wrong! You fool! You've let yourself become obsessed by this fantasy of you having to enable ordinary people. This reality you think awaits you is an illusion and you don't even know it! This world you're living in is nothing more than a fairy tale! There's no world where everybody is equal. Such a utopia does not exist anywhere in this world. Your search for such a thing while being the rightful successor to the imperial throne is just hypocrisy. You damn these peasants to a life in which they try to obtain the unattainable! Do you not see the cruelty of such a dream? The choice is yours. If you can not live without that dream, let it drag you down and drown you!"

"So then, that's it, Berkut!" says Alm, "I will not lose to you...Justice is on my side!"

"You're so blinded by justice. You cannot even see how outmatched you are! These people around you are nothing more than villagers!"

"And according to you," retorts Alm, "that makes them completely worthless. But you are wrong, Berkut! I bet their weapons can cut your noble knights down just as fast as anyone else's! So come on, Berkut! Let's see whose blade cuts deeper!"

"I thought you'd never ask," answers Berkut. "Crush the enemy!"

The noble knights at his sides charge forward, their armored warhorses galloping, the men safely positioned behind a wall of shields and pikes; his own army—his friends—break into a run, shouting as they come, and then the armies clash. The first bodies hit the ground.

There is chaos around them. And in the middle of it all, Alm and Berkut. Their battle shrinking to the few feet of ground around them. Berkuts halberd lashes out and Alm knocks it aside. The knight lets his horse dance back for another try, spurs it on and tries to trample Alm beneath its hooves. But Alm sidesteps and swirls, slicing with the royal sword, only to be blocked by Berkuts shield.

Every cut, every strike, every word, focuses on overturning the ideals of the other.

"Alm... Just...give up..!" demands Berkut, circling around Alm, raining strong blows down on him. "There's no way I'd lose to a cheap peasant king like you! You are nothing to me! Meet your end! Die, die, die..!" Every word is accompanied by swipes and stabs.

Alm doesn't care for his words.  
For now, all he does is dodge, block and parry. Analysis of all the attacks and circlings cannot be completed with his eyes alone, Alms senses run wild and… at last he swings his sword and slashes Berkut square across his chest.

The sword easily cuts through Berkuts armor. The Rigelian knight screams in surprise, but is not unseated. He brings his steed to a stop several meters away from Alm and examines the damage. Though the royal sword cut easily through his armor, the cut itself isn't deep. Still, his breathing has become harder and he let's out a burning ball of air that was searing the walls of his lungs.

Sweat is forming on his brow and he regards his enemy with a contemptuous look.

"What a surprise," Berkut says, while Rinea uses the pause to heal his wound with her staff, "I didn't think that golden sword of yours would be capable of piercing my armor. But don't get cocky, this was your one chance. I will not give you a second."

Berkut charges again.

"You must admit that both of us are nothing but fools who know their dreams are unattainable but come anyways. Frauds, on different sides of the spectrum, without a will of their own, who wasted their lives filling out ridiculous roles that were never theirs to begin with. Can you finally admit that's who we truly are? We were misguided by one and the same person. Both of us, defects of humanity! And YOU! ...You should never have existed in the first place!"

"No! I won't let you say that, Berkut. It's true, we have opposite beginnings, but my father was a decent man, with the best intentions and even if I may eventually become like my father, all the more if that is the case. I will adhere to my principles. That is why I have to deny that birth dictates our fate. I will not approve of such a notion as long as I exist!"

"Then you are a dead man walking! You saw King Rudolf. You saw his end. He is your ideal? Is this the life you want? The hollow life of a benevolent emperor? The sword of damocles forever hanging over your head? Loved by none of his subjects. Hated by the masses. The life of someone who gives his all for the kingdom and for what? To die at the hands of the one he has sworn to protect, with nothing but a blissful smile plastered on his face? You are not the man for such a thing. Your life is a false life! Just as mine is false! Children will often idolize their parents. But, when he died by your hand, a curse was your inheritance. That man left you no choice but to become a hero. An emperor. But the ideals you cling to are secondhand. Ideals that you will never be able to live up to, since you didn't get here because of your skill. No, you got here only because you are of royal blood and because that birthmark of yours has destined you to get here. In the end, all you're doing is acting out a prophecy. There is no skill in fulfilling destiny. Every move you make is predetermined. Do you think just anyone could have done what you did? Pah! Your birth... your story… is the very proof that there is no such thing as equality."

There seems to be no end to this onslaught of attacks. What overwhelming power!  
The true strength of Lord Berkut, of the man said to be the strongest knight of Rigel!

And Alm could not object to those words because they were the truth. King Rudolf, in many ways, embodied Alms ideal. A power to make the impossible possible. An existence that saved many people. It was Alm who wanted to become such a person.

'That's why I can't match Berkut. The man in front of me is the end of that road. He knows far more about my ideal, about the price of power.'

This is it.

Alm can only defend against his attacks.  
Berkut's lance will kill him if he tries to counter.

No, first of all, he does not have anything to spare for a counterattack.  
The only resistance Alm is allowed is to block Berkut's attacks until he runs out of energy.

And that should not take long.  
The magical energy in Berkuts halberd scrapes away his royal sword with each attack.  
The sword cannot take any more, and Alm's arms become tired.

The battle is at an end.

"That… isn't… true!", Alms screams each word between blocked attacks.

Berkut onslaught of attacks stops, he breathes heavily, "Think, would you?! Do you not see that you've been betrayed? Just like I have been betrayed?"

"Are you accusing my father of betraying you? You're wrong! He loved you! He worried about you to the last! You knew him so much better than I did. How can you not see that?"

"How am I to believe he loved me if he didn't even trust me with the truth?!" asks Berkut between heavy breaths and lets his halberd rain down on Alm, "He led me to believe I was destined for greatness while I was not. He was cruel to make me believe I could ever be more than a lowly advisor to you." The aggression fades from Berkuts attacks. His enmity towards Alm is gone. "How could I ever forgive him?"

"It's not true, Berkut!" exclaims Alm and swings at Berkut, "Your destiny is not set in stone by birthright alone, just as my wasn't! Both of us can fill the roles of those who help others and change the world with our combined wisdom and strength! Tell me, Berkut, if you do not fight for your people who do you even fight for?

"I've always only fought for myself and to display my strength," answers Berkut and dodges, "I can only rely on my power! Damn you, Alm. I refuse to live in your shadow! You miserable fraud! I shall teach you a lesson!"

"It seems to me like you've lost a lot of things."

"You've got it all wrong, peasant king!" screams Berkut, "I'm here, fighting you, because I never had claim to those things to begin with. Your existence changed everything! It's only natural for me to deny you! As the true successor, you are the one person I can never bring myself to accept."

"I see. I suppose," says Alm his thoughts spinning.

'What Berkut says is mostly true, but I can't help but think there is something he misses.'

Alm blocks a sweeping downcut that sends a jolt of impact up his arm.

'What was the point of me, surviving until now? Why did I get this far? At first, I started this journey just to save Sir Mycens name, an attempt to make a difference in other people's lives. Yes, I loved the thought of everyone fighting side by side as equals. United by one dream…. A dream that all this fighting could be undone... The dream of a farm boy who couldn't help anyone... But I have made friends along this way. I've made important choices and gave it my all… It is my will that has gotten us this far and it will see me through this, too!'

"We can find a solution to this, Berkut!" screams Alm over the rage of battle, "We must!"

"No, Alm!" says Berkut, lifting his halberd with heavy arms, "There's no world where nobody gets hurt, nor can one seek happiness without hurting others."

"There's no need for sacrifices," Alm blocks the attack, "Of course, there will be losses along the way, but as little people as possible will get hurt if we work hard and do our best. My father would have surely yearned for that as well.  
So that is why…"

He swirls and puts all his strength into his next attack.

"...You must lose this fight!"

The sword shines in the light of the flames as Alm swings it, the time seems to slow down for a moment. Alms weapon crashes against Berkuts. And in one swift motion, breaks through. The halberd shatters and the strike goes through his defense. Alm is dimly aware of Rinea screaming.

It only took that one quick slash.

Berkut is unseated, he hits the ground with a cracking sound that turns Alms stomach. The war horse whinnies and backs off.

"Do you yield, Berkut?" asks Alm, standing over him.

Blood is running down Berkuts face and he is shaking. Slowly, as if unsure of the damage he just received, he sits up and with a strong voice proclaims, "I yield!"

As the other fighters around them realize what has happened, they too, cease their fighting.

"Berkut, I have bested you in battle. Do you now see that you have been wrong all along?" asks Alm.

Unable even to breath, Berkut puts his hand on the floor, desperately trying to hold his countenance together.

"Hehehehe…" Berkuts puts a hand to his face and a desperate, manic laugh fills the hall. With dark voice, Berkut speaks, "I beg to suggest, with greatest respect and veneration, that your excellency is an idiot… Yes, you have won, Alm. But all you have done is prove me right. The true king of Rigel, Rudolf the II, has put me in my place... Just as expected, no one can ascend above his station... Not even I... My role has been set in stone all along and I didn't even know. What foolishness to strive for more than what has been given at birth. As I said, my strength and knowledge is yours. I must do as you command."

Alm is shocked, this is not what he expected to happen, "I thank you for laying down your weapon, but I don't want you to despair! You can still reach for greatness, but at my side, as my ally. I know you can still fulfill your dreams."

Berkut simply scoffs, "What does his Excellency know of the dreams of those below him? ...My dreams have been shattered with the revelation of your true identity, Alm… A hero of legend can only save the people he sides with… which is why we must side with you or be destroyed. It is the natural order of things. Do not look at me like that. Don't you dare pity me! Birth might have dictated my place, but I will fill it with nothing less but ultimate perfection. I will swear my lance to you. Come Rinea!" Rinea is quickly by his side, giving him support. Berkut lays his hand on her head and presses his mouth against her hairline. Alm must strain his ears to hear his next words, as they are not meant for him. "Forgive me, my love… I couldn't change my fate…"

And she answers, softspoken, "My Lord Berkut… it is as you said… I am confident that Alm will be a kind and just ruler with your guidance. We will serve Alm well... If he will have us."

Both of them give Alm a quizzical look and he recruits them. He knows, this is not the end of it. This is merely the beginning.

* * *

 _So, I believe unhealthy ideals hurt those the most who actually believe in them... if I didn't make it clear enough._

 _Soooo... this is not the end. Do you like this? Is this something that interests you? Then please leave a comment saying so._

 _I know I've been waiting for something like this to be written (and then decided to write it myself). If this inspires you to write something similar, please go ahead._

 _Heavily inspired and influenced by the Emiya/Archer fight in Fate stay/night. Because it's by far the best example of how to let different believes clash against each other. I recommend watching the 2014 series if you're bored._


	2. Old Wounds and New Beginnings

_Notes: So, this sets in after they have fought the mad god duma. I didn't really have anything to add to the game after Berkuts fight because I think everything from then on out was handled perfectly. So, there you go. I hope you enjoy it!_

* * *

 _If inconstancy is the heart's neighbor, the soul will not fail to find it bitter. Blame and praise alike befall when a dauntless man's spirit is black-white-mixed like the magpie's plumage. Yet he may see blessedness after all, for both colors have a share in him, the color of heaven and the color of hell. Inconstancy's companion is all black and takes on the hue of darkness, while he of steadfast thoughts clings to white. [1]_

They had successfully sealed the gods, but it cost them dearly.

All of Valentia lies in shambles.

People suffer.

Solutions are needed.

Practical, groundbreaking ones.

"Nonsense," declares Berkut. "They are the sons of peasants. Glory, and riches, and stars are beyond their grasps. But a full stomach and safety, those dreams can come true, which is why we should focus on that alone."

The meeting room in Rigel castle is cramped with people. Alm seemingly assembled his complete army to discuss. Berkuts disdain for this is noticeable in his gaze and posture.

"Lord Berkut," tries Celica again. "This new approach will boost social mobility and increase trading. It will relieve strain from local farmers, especially rigelian farmers, as their bad soil in particular gives poor yields…" and she adds with an upbeat tone. "Perhaps, once such strains are lifted, Rigelians will have the opportunity to enjoy some leisure time."

If Celica thought that would be an argument for her motion, she certainly forgot her audience.

"And grow complacent like you Zofians?!" bellows Berkut in indignation. "I think not!"

Berkuts eyes move to Celicas face; a second later his gaze shifts past her shoulder to meet Alms defiantly.

'Go ahead, Alm. Shred my dignity all you want. It will not change the facts. How can I be Rigels finest if I cannot swallow a curse such as this? All the stupidity in the world seems to be assembled in this room. Heh, bring at least three times as much idiocy if you want to stain me.'

"True justice is the result of order," Berkut emphasizes. "The natural order of things can not be changed and should not be changed. These people know their place. It allows them to concentrate on their immediate tasks. If you take that away from them, all you will do is bring them pain. Ambition may be a virtue when it comes to improving their abilities within their designated field, but as soon as that ambition becomes irrational, like rising above their station, it becomes a vice. Dissolve the basic principle of birthrights and you might give rise to conflicts that are beyond your foreseeing and guarding."

"The way you say it…" Alm observes. "Am I to take this as a threat, Berkut?"

'Yes,' thinks Berkut.

"No," he says instead. "I'm merely stating a fact, Sire."

"Uh, betray us, and I will attack you, until your insides are out, your outsides are in, your entrails will become your extrails I will w-rip... all the p... ung," threatens Forsyth, but he stumbles over his words as soon as he notices Berkuts look of a thousand deaths. "Pain, lots of pain."

"Learn to speak first before making threats, piece of lowborn trash," replies Berkut, visibly unshaken. "See, that's the problem with your lot, Prince Albein. Everyone thinks himself entitled to speak without knowing their goddamn place!"

"Alm has been nothing but kind towards Rigel and you dare reprimand him?!", intervenes Sir Clive with strong voice.

"Oh indeed!" agrees Berkut with mocking voice. "His excellency has been most generous. Since the war every Rigelian is covered, some by his aid, others by _cerecloths_. I'm sure King Rudolf would be proud, that is, _if he were still amongst us._ "

There is a full second of silence in which one could easily hear a pin drop. They all remembered Alms agony at killing his own father and expect swift retaliation for such words. Berkut seems aware of the looming danger, too. Though, he only draws himself up even more.

Yes, Alm should be furious, but he only returns Berkuts stare. Searching for something in the others eyes.

"Lord Berkut," it's Clive who finally breaks the silence. "I can see by your insolence that you are in need of harsh discipline."

"Is that so, Sir Clive?" and now Berkuts whole attention is drawn to him instead. "As the future leader of the one kingdoms brotherhood of knights you no doubt put importance on such virtues. Alm does go on and on about equality, but everyone knows that if he had chosen strictly by ability it wouldn't be _you_ leading the one kingdoms brotherhood of knights but _your betrothed Mathilda_. But of course that isn't possible. As skilled as she may be, she's a woman and there are social norms that must be adhered to."

"That's not—" gasps Clive. "I... Mathilda…"

"—You are correct, Berkut," says Alm at last. "It is true that Mathilda is the most skilled knight in my army, but you are wrong in one regard. In fact, I did ask her to become the leader of the one kingdoms brotherhood of knights. She declined however."

"You asked her first?!" exclaims Clive, taken aback by this revelation. He does seem shocked, if not even a little pale.

"Oh, isn't that delightful?" gloats Berkut. "Judging by the expression on your face your future wife didn't tell you! Does betrayal rub you the wrong way, Sir Clive? I wouldn't have guessed, seeing that you took a traitor right back into your arms."

"Such insolence!" bellows Clive, filled with indignation. "And now you try to slander Fernand after making use of him?! How rotten can a man be? He is like a brother to me, of course I forgave him."

"Your sentimentality just shows what a fool you are. That man is not worth his salt."

"Excuse me," interrupts Fernand from the back row. "I'm less than five feet away from you both."

Berkut turns to Fernand with an indifferent look on his face. "Very good. I see that you are able to judge distance. I wasn't certain, seeing that your judgement seems to be impaired. You spineless coward are keeping quiet while your ideals are thrown out and trampled underfoot. You disgust me more than any of these lot."

"Lord Berkut," retorts Fernand unfaced. "Must I remind you that the king's word is beyond contestation."

"Alm is no king yet."

There goes a displeased murmur through the crowd.

"But soon he will be," goes Fernand on. "and perhaps you'd do good in making peace with that. You're speaking out of turn, my Lord. 'Know your place' is an advice you should follow yourself from time to time."

Berkut scrunches his face. "Hold your tongue, traitorous rat. Even though what you suggest is true, I will never cower before any master nor bend to any threat. It is my heritage to stand erect, proud and unafraid; I will certainly not falter. Not on this. Not ever!"

"Berkut, at ease," Alm tries to put oil on troubled waters. "We are all friends here. There is no need for such harsh words and declarations. Still, I have decided that Celicas suggestion is the best course of action—"

"—Pathetic." Any composure Berkut might have had is gone. "You must know how absurd that is, so why can't you admit she is wrong? You are both, selfish and misguided! You strive for the total salvation of all without realizing that it's totally different from what you're trying to implement! Not only that, they are completely incompatible! The more you strive for this utopian dream of yours, the more you'll be consumed by your own contradiction! My citizens will rip each other apart chasing down things that are out of their reach! Is that really what you want? Do you realize how stupid that is? Do you?! You'll end up a mere murderer! If you can't see that then we have nothing more to discuss. I can't even stand to look at you! Rinea, we are leaving."

"No, wait… I…" stutters Rinea who had remained silent throughout the whole conversation. "Your excellency, I must apologize on behalf of Lord Berkut."

"Rinea, you will do no such thing! I won't have you apologize for something I said quite deliberately."

"But I must." she insists, turning to Alm, stooping her head, gaze fixed on the floor. "Please Sire, you must forgive us."

"On whose side are you, Rinea?!" Berkut is visibly incensed at this affront of being excused like a child.

"My Lord Berkut, there are no sides anymore," explains Rinea imploringly. "Why can you not see that? We fought a god together… differing opinions should not drive us apart."

"They warned me!" Berkuts anger flares. "They warned me that the poor country Lords and Ladys are little better than peasants. I didn't give ear to such defamation at the time. Should I have?! Are you now showing your true colors, woman?"

"You never cared about my descent before," says Rinea, hurt glistens in her eyes. "You are being cruel. Such conduct is below you."

"Oh, so now you decide how I need to carry myself?! Great." spits Berkut, waving her off and turning to leave. "They wish to bring Rigel to ruin and you fraternize yourself with them! This land will become an object of horror and scorn! At this rate… I shudder to think the duma faithful would have done a better job at governing Rigel! Now come, Rinea. All has been said."

Rinea gives a last curtsey before following Berkut out of the door.

* * *

"I can't believe it!" grouches Claire, hand on her hip. "What a condescending little fopdoodle! I should have put him at lance point as soon as he opened his mouth to speak!"

"Welp," Alm simply shrugs. "I guess that means the meeting is adjourned."

"Adjourned? Why?" asks Sir Clive. "We aren't finished yet."

Alm shrugs. "Well, wasn't the goal of this meeting to find an agreement? It didn't seem to me that we found one."

"You are to be the king, Alm." reminds Lukas. "You don't need Berkuts agreement."

"I know that," replies Alm. "I know I don't need it. I want it nonetheless."

"Berkut is not acting his part." says Clive. "You should not reward such behaviour."

"I have no intent to reward him," declares Alm with firm voice. "But must I remind you why we got this far? It wasn't because I demanded it of you, it wasn't because I forced you… it was because I _asked_ you. That's how I earned your trust. You _chose_ me as your leader, you _chose_ to follow me and because of that, you stood by my side during the hardest fights. We braced the wrath of a mad god together! The power of our individual choices, combined in this one wish for a better future led to this very moment. I won't undo that dream by committing atrocities. I won't make Berkut heel or force the people of Rigel into these policies. Rigel didn't join me willingly. They were defeated. The whole country is confused about what happened, about the fact that I'm supposed to be their new king now. I want Berkut and the people of Rigel to trust me enough so that they will accept and welcome my decisions. I want them to trust me to make the right decisions even if they make them uncomfortable. I want them to feel like they can rely on me to decide what's best for them. And that takes time. I will not leave them out. I will not force them on their knees. I will not become a tyrant in their eyes. So that's why I ask you now to accept my decision. Will you do that? Will you stand your ground with me and never waver?"

"So, that's what you want then?" asks Tobin. "To make the Rigelians follow you of their own free will? Did you even listen to what Berkut said?!"

"The Rigelian people still have their eyes on Berkut," explains Alm. "He is the voice of Rigel. If we can get him on our side with this, then there will be no objection among the population."

"To argue with Berkut is like administering medicine to the dead," says Grey. "Hate to say it Alm, but getting him on our side seems rather unlikely."

"We will find a way."

"Alm, please listen to me." implores Celica. "Berkut is a danger. We both know that. Did you forget what he did to you at the Border Battle? The shattered mirror that unleashed unspeakable things on you and your men? On the very people here with us? He is not to be trusted. I've made the mistake of trusting someone untrustworthy before and you know how that turned out. I don't intend to make the same mistake twice. Alm, I don't want to see you get hurt!"

"I'm not asking anyone to forget." insists Alm. "Or to forgive. But we have to look to the future."

"That's what I'm doing, Alm, and it's what worries me." pleads Celica. "Berkut seems like a man capable of anything. When I hear him speak like that... he reminds me of Chancellor Desaix."

"He is my cousin, Celica," says Alm. "I thought you of all people were able to see the good in others. To hear you say that… it grieves me. Do you trust in me, Celica?"

"Of course, Alm. Absolutely and without hesitation. But this isn't about you, it's about Berkut."

"The fact is…" Alm makes a pause as if in thought. "The fact is I don't know him. I don't know Berkut. And you don't either. If anything, he deserves a fair chance. All of you, you have helped me find my place. Berkut has lost his, which is why we must give him this chance to find it again."

* * *

"Berkut, wait… You mustn't antagonize them like this," Rinea has difficulties catching up with Berkuts fast pace.

"So what am I to do?!" he bellows over his shoulder. "Throw myself at Alms feet and watch him destroy Rigel?"

"No, but the knights Code of Chivalry demands you to refrain from the wanton giving of offence."

He stops suddenly and turns to face her. "It also demands of me to at all times speak the truth and that I did! This Alm. Just being in the same room as him makes my blood boil!"

"Berkut…"

"I know!" he clenches and unclenches his fists in anger. "I know that I'm being unbridled and that it's shameful."

"Then get yourself together, my Lord. This can not continue! The man I just witnessed is unlike you!"

"Losing in battle is also unlike me! Perhaps I'm not the man you thought I was," even now his words aim to defy her as if she were his enemy. "In fact... I'm not. There is no glory to be had now."

There it is. The pain he has suffered. It's only the tip of the iceberg. But it's more than he allowed her to see until now.

"There is also no glory to be gained in the kingdom of the dead," implores Rinea, laying a soothing hand on his chest. "My Lord Berkut, you must—"

He brushes her hand of. "ENOUGH!" he erupts and then with softer voice adds. "Enough already, Rinea…"

He turns around and leaves. Rinea only watches him go, filled with sadness.

* * *

 _Notes_ :

 _[1 Wolfram Von Eschenbach, Parzival 1:1 My reference is to book 1, section 1 Vintage books edition 1961]_

 _In the medieval context, the magpie appears as an allegory of the impossible, as a union of incompatible opposites: black and white, good and evil, and, above all, two opposing concepts of God. [...] In this way, the narrator stands against the simple classification according to the saved and the damned, for it is to be reckoned with those people who have not yet come to a clear decision, the magpie, but who still have hope for salvation._

 _And Forsyth threat is quite literaterally taken from a knight's tale, which, strangely enough, deals with the same overall theme._


	3. Turmoils and Tantrums

The sun hides behind thick clouds from which clumps of wet flakes drift down endlessly. The spacious courtyard of Rigel Castle with it's black stone pavement is covered in a thick blanket of snow. Footsteps and hoof prints crisscross each other.

Right there, Berkut is drilling with a Quintain; a shield and dummy which suspend from a swinging pole. Whenever a lance smashes against the wooden shield of the dummy, the whole apparatus rotates and the heavy sandbag attached to one side swings through the air, threatening to knock the attacker of their saddle.

Berkut spurs his horse on, lifts the lance—a perfect straight line—surges forward, the snow bursting up as the horse's hooves kick the ground, with a 'pock' his lance hits the wooden shield and before the sandbag comes close he has ridden past the dummy.

His strike is well enough, but… there is a certain crudity in his style. His strikes are a little too forceful, a little too… wrathful.

He brings his horse to a stop. His breath is pale against the cold air, his heart pounds in his chest and under the layers of fur-lined steel he is cold with sweat.

"Your aim isn't perfect," comments a deep voice. "You seem out of balance."

"Sir Mycen," Berkuts voice drips with disdain for the man. "You sly old coot. I can assure you that I'm in perfect condition! Have you come to gloat?!"

Sir Mycen covers the distance with slow purposeful steps. Shoulders straight. Head held high. His hand resting on the pummel of his sword.

"As usual, you are a loveless fellow," he says. "You speak and behave frankly."

"That's how I was trained," states Berkut angrily, dismounting his horse and drawing himself up before Sir Mycen as if to show off that he is just a few inches taller in height.

Sir Mycen simply lifts an eyebrow and doesn't even step back as the other invades his personal space just enough to intimidate. The old man crosses his arms."I'd like to believe King Rudolf taught you more finesse."

Berkut narrows his eyes. "Then I guess I'm simply not in the mood to soothe anyone's ego."

"You mean anyone's but your own. Berkut, you are being unreasonable."

"No. I am being perfectly reasonable! Alm has chosen to be the one beyond reason."

"All that anger changes nothing," insists Sir Mycen. "But if you keep on building it up like you do, it will eat you up."

Berkuts jaw muscles clench.

"Just get lost," his voice is low and threatening. "Who are you to give me advice? Don't think I'm on your side just because we fought a god together."

"The way you carry yourself…" Sir Mycen shakes his head. "What a pathetic display. Right now, you are being a disgrace and an embarrassment to the rigelian royal family."

Berkuts face flushes visibly, his pupils contract. Bitterness and incredulity rumbling low in his voice as he responds. "If you've come to tell me something specific you'd better get it out already."

"I just want to know why you have decided to neglect your obligations and abandoned all reason," explains Sir Mycen calmly and unhurried. "'Cause there's no honor in that."

"There is nothing left for me to do," answers Berkut, lips pressed tight. "I've played my hand."

"That's right. And you lost big time. But you must get back into the game, boy, or else this means game over. Have you enjoyed the past weeks with Alm in charge? Because the next decades will be much the same. Alm will be your king from now on and you must serve him as well as you can, but you can't do that by avoiding him. You have the chance to influence his decisions. To be an agent of change. To do your people good. Do you know what some people would give to have that opportunity?"

"I neither need your scoldings nor a pep-talk. I've heard such speeches before, not that they ever did me any good," hisses Berkut. "I know my options. I know exactly what I'm doing and I won't become a mindless follower to a rotten king such as Alm. You know, you should be more careful when pushing a man to action, you might not like the action he takes."

Berkuts hand tightens around his lance. His glare is fixed on Sir Mycen. There is a moment of frosty silence in which both men muster each other. The air grows tense. At last, Berkut breaks eye contact.

Rigidly, the young knight turns his back on Mycen and crosses the distance to the stable boy, whose lips are slowly turning blue. Sir Mycen follows, walking three steps behind him.

"Then tell me," offers Sir Mycen, while Berkuts back is still turned towards him. "What exactly are you planning to do?"

Berkut remains silent, ignores the question and hands over the reins to the boy, who immediately scurries away, horse in tow.

Berkuts blank, unfocused gaze drifts aimlessly after him.

Sir Mycen waits patiently for a response, until he's had enough.

"You and your bullshit," he snarls. "You got an answer and clever remarks for everybody. But I asked you a straight question and you can't give me a straight answer, because you don't even know yourself. Look at me." the old man demands at last with such voice that Berkut can't help but throw a hate-filled gaze over his shoulder.

"Rudolf would be ashamed of your conduct."

Sir Mycen's voice is like a lash—loud and sharp—and his aim is true. His claim echoes off the walls, followed by a stunned silence. Berkuts mind instantly goes over the limit. He turns fast and faces Sir Mycen, bellowing loudly so that even the men on the wall walk can hear him,

"My uncle would be alive and well if you had bothered to tell Alm the truth!"

In this instance, Berkuts lance goes for Mycen. But Mycen's sword repels it as if he'd been expecting it. The force of the sword strike pushes the lance's point to the ground, almost trapping the weapon. But Berkut reacts fast, taking two steps back, freeing his weapon, successfully realigning the point with his target.

'Knees. Elbows. Armpits. Shoulders. Throat. Forehead. Neck.'

Berkut spins the shaft of the lance between the palms of his hands. It's roughly eight feet long; smooth, thick, and heavy. A small layer of frost covers it and the tourney weapon glistens in his hands.

'How long have I been out here in the cold?'

He can't tell. Only noticing now that his fingers are numb.

"Berkut, you carry a weapon with a blunted point. My sword is live steel. You wouldn't want to fight like this."

The edges of Sir Mycens sword look sharp enough to shave with.

'Sir Mycen is willing to give me a chance to step back and retreat without losing face. But... I cannot accept such pity from a man like him! I'll show him that with enough force, even a blunted weapon can be deadly.'

"What's the matter?" Berkut hears himself say instead. "Losing heart already?! Unless you actually hit me with it, it's nothing more than a sharp edge."

'Foolish old man, no one can touch me.'

He readies himself.

For a long weapon, distance is always preferred.

It's easier to wait for the enemy to approach and to attack when he comes into range.

Berkut knows that. He knows it would be suicidal to close in on his enemy...

...but does so anyway.

He advances and launches a fast series of strikes; going for the weak points in Sir Mycen's full plate armor. Each strike of his lance is perfectly aimed and any one of his thrusts could be a devastating blow. But each and everyone of them is repelled, rebuffed, or pushed aside by Sir Mycens sword.

A swordsman can only defeat a lance-bearer when he bridges the distance by avoiding the point of the lance.

But Berkut does not allow for an opening. He won't allow Mycen to move forward. He doesn't even let him get within eight feet, the range of the lance.

Even when his lance is brushed aside he is fast to recover. He is all skill. His thrusts are rapid with no change in speed. How is Sir Mycen to create an opening with these continuous attacks raining down on him? Without even space to breath between them?

Sir Mycen has no way to close in on Berkut, and continues to retreat.

"So it is true what they say about you," Sir Mycen comments, "Rigels proudest son. The black lion with an indomitable spirit and the unbridled strength of a beast. There aren't three fighters in this world at your level."

"For your age you're not too bad either," replies Berkut, continuing his onslaught. "The fact that you're able to repel my strikes so easily means that you really are a master swordsman."

"Listen, boy. I know you dedicated your life to your training. You tried to cater to those around you, to Rudolf and even to your long gone parents. That's why you never developed any real passions and desires of your own. You were driven by your delusions of grandeur! This ridiculous obsession of becoming emperor! It's time now to let it go or else you'll be consumed by your own contradiction. You'll end up crushed alongside your dreams! Burned out — without ever archiving them!"

"So what do you care?! You are full of lies. Alm might have forgiven you, but I have no reason to do the same. You should be glad that I'm no longer the Lord of this castle, because I'd have you hanged and strung up for bird feed in a heartbeat!"

Based on its shape, it's clear that the main attack of a lance is a thrust, but there is a basic strength in swings also. The advantage of a wide swing using it's long range is that it does not allow the enemy to dodge it by stepping sideways.

That's why Berkut jumps forward and swings the lance. But he realizes the moment he launches it that the blow is too grand, too heavy, too slow. It leaves him wide open. Mycen manages to close the distance between them. Berkut stops himself mid-swing and dodges. His instinct of not wanting to get hit by Sir Mycens sword surpasses his desire to hit the old man. He can feel the draft from Sir Mycen's strike brush past his side as he rolls sideways. He comes to a stop and looks up. His gaze shifting to the place where he stood before. Sir Mycens weapon left a mark in the snow.

'That was way too close for comfort.'

"Berkut, It's time to cast of your pride while you still can. Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall! Alm is a good man, but even his leniency has it's limits. If you can't do it for yourself, then at least do it for Rinea."

"Rinea…" Berkut rises and regains his fighting stance. "She might be better off without me."

"You don't mean it and you know it," says Sir Mycen and takes slow steps towards Berkut, while Berkut takes cautious steps backwards. "Stop being a callous arrogant mean-minded hypocrite who goes on and on about how life isn't fair and man up! Before it's too late! You think you have nothing left to offer to the world or that the world has nothing left to offer you? Well, you are wrong!"

A partial retreat does not allow escape, and Berkut realizes that an unlucky attempt to counterattack might result in a split skull.

Berkuts finger tighten around his weapon, his shoulders rise and fall with each breath. He swallows.

"Pah, what good are your words?" Berkut says defiantly. "The one thing I can do without is a man your age telling me how I have to live my life! Listen to you, offering trite platitudes from on high! You think you're so experienced that I'd need to cower before your wisdom? As if experience actually had some correlation with increased wisdom; as if most of the stupidity in the world were not propounded by people your age!"

"Oh really now, Berkut? Listen to no one over forty?" asks Sir Mycen sardonically, "Is that your new strategy?"

"If that's what it takes!" spits Berkut between gritted teeth.

"You know, I used to admire you from afar," Mycen starts to round Berkut and flourishes his sword to intimidate. "A young, talented general who put real effort into his endeavors. But it seems to me that you're nothing more than talk these days. It's time to get your head on straight, Berkut, or else it might roll one of these days."

"You dare mock and threaten me? You?! A man of unknown heritage? From whatever fatal loins you sprang, one thing is certain: you are rotten to the core. You used Alm to your advantage. You caused the death of my uncle. From our mutual tragedy, you profited. Alm, the fool, will make you chancellor! You are as vile as one can get. I'll take you down for this!"

Berkut steps forward, as he does so he thrusts the lance halfway and as Sir Mycen goes to parry he pulls it back again. The faint fulfills its purpose, Sir Mycen's attempt to counter goes through thin air and his overswing leaves an opening. Berkut thrusts past the man's defenses and hits his unarmored armpit. In a real fight, Mycen would now be unable to lift his sword properly. But since Berkut is fighting with a blunted weapon, it doesn't even leave a scratch and his attack drew him near enough for a counterattack from Sir Mycen.

To his horror, Sir Mycen lifts his arms way up above his head for a devastating downcut.

Berkuts senses take over, he steps back and strikes down at his opponent's back of the knee. Sir Mycen loses his balance and falls down onto one knee. Berkuts next swing traps the man's sword on the ground. The third swing is aimed at Sir Mycens head side. Being hit in the head by something so heavy and with such force as Berkuts strikes exhibit, it would cause serious damage to—if not kill—Sir Mycen. Just inches before the impact, the strike is stopped. It takes Berkut only a second to realize that his lance is in the fierce grip of Sir Mycen's hand.

"Berkut," growls Sir Mycen furied, "since you have chosen to be personal and invidious let me share a little story with you. Let me share with you the story of what exactly your uncle thought of you."

Berkuts breath catches in his throat and for a moment he becomes inattentive. He is only given this instant to realize that he has fucked up. There is a pull and he doesn't let go of his weapon fast enough. A dull 'thud' is heard as he is headbutted forcefully by Sir Mycen. Disarmed, he falls flat to the ground.

A sudden burst of pain like that is nothing new to Berkut and still, he finds himself stunned. He props himself up on one elbow, wincing.

Soft footsteps approach him, and he turns his head, blinking up at Sir Mycen, who stands tall above him but makes no further move on Berkut. White specks still dance before Berkuts eyes. Holding his head, he pushes himself up.

"You think I don't know?!" Berkut is keeping his voice steady, but the craziness is plainly visible, and his voice trembles just a little. "You think I am unaware of what my uncle thought of me?! His last words to me were about what a disgrace I am! I am a disgrace. So what?! I live. That is all I have to show for myself."

"Don't claim credit for that," observes Sir Mycen. "It's Alm who spared you."

"I know! And I'm eternally thankful to his excellency! Is that what you'd have me say?"

"Geez, Berkut. Give it a rest already." Berkut cringes inwardly at the pity in Sir Mycen's voice, but he refuses to let it show. "It's not like Alm would care for such words. He is a good man. He has shown his skill. You can't possibly deny that."

"I know his skill! I know that I'm not half the man he is! In fact, I could not match Alm from the start! My uncle formed me into an imitation of what he wished his son to be. An imitation might get close to the original, but it can never surpass the real deal."

"Stupid boy!" And Mycen advances on him. Berkut flinches back, half-expecting the pain that never comes. Instead Sir Mycen just puts his big hands on Berkuts shoulders and shakes gently, "You were more than just a copy to him! Not once was he dissatisfied with you and what he said was only ever for your protection! How can you not know?! You were his second son, Berkut! You were like a son to him!"

"Then why did he never tell me?!" Berkut asks with raspy voice. "If that is true, then why would he do this to me? You think that Alm and I were equals before his eyes?! No, that isn't right. He made me into nothing more than an obstacle for Alm to overcome. Nothing more than an equation in his well-calculated plot. He did not only sacrifice his own life, he risked mine as well. He didn't give a damn about me. But, I guess, neither did he about Alm. Perhaps, to him, both of us were nothing more but means to an end. We were used. Our humanity denounced. And I fool would have died for him. A part of me still wishes I had. If only he'd let me fight on the frontlines that day. Alm wouldn't even have gotten close enough! I'd have given my life to drag Alm to death with me before he'd reach my king! That much I swear."

"Which is exactly why you had to remain at the castle! To see both of you kill each other would have been the last thing he'd wanted!"

"We almost did though, didn't we? So if that's true… If any of what you're saying is true… if you truly were his friend…" and this time Berkuts voice really does crack. "Why did you not talk my uncle out of it?! Why did you not stop him before it was too late?!"

"I tried. I really did," answers Sir Mycen quietly."But in the end, he made his own choices. Berkut, you must know that he loved you. He truly did. He knew that what was to come would only bring you pain, but he also knew that you are strong enough to overcome this."

It's like Sir Mycen turned a switch on Berkut. With a rough movement he's freed himself of Sir Mycen's grip and his eyes are set ablaze in defiance.

"How dare you?! This isn't about strength! I can not move past this. I won't forgive you. Any of you. I won't."

"I'm not asking you to," explains Sir Mycen in stern voice, "I don't care for your forgiveness. But you must carry on regardless. You must help Alm rebuild Rigel."

Berkuts jaw sets. He knows that he could always leave and let Rigel fall to ruin in the hands of an idiot like Alm. But he is of royal blood and it refuses to let him turn tail like a coward.

"You deluded old fool," he bites out.

"Do not take me so lowly! It is true, I only ever fought for my own sake and still… I do have a sense of moral obligation, that much has always been clear to me. I know my responsibilities and I can not be so selfish as to only do what my heart desires...

But... I'm tired. So very tired of it. I'm tired of being lobbied, taken for granted and schemed against. I'm sick of the pretense. I've done better than any prince anyone can remember and after all this, after everything I've done, everything I sacrificed…

Do you know what it feels like to be made a fraud? Do you have any idea how that feels?

Because of me, the empire worked as well as could be expected for as long as it did. After taking down Mila, my uncle remained in this castle. It was I who travelled through Valentia and did his bidding. It was I who signed agreements with spiritually ill, politically empty, ethically rotten and mentally stupid people. Think of that what you will, but it brought stability to a godforsaken world!

Alm does not agree. He thinks he can do better? All right, upset the apple cart for all I care. I'll let him try. Though, he is miscalculating. Desiring a thing cannot make you have it. I know that all too well and it stings. It hurts.

And do you know what I will do with all my pain? Do you know where I'll put it? I'll keep it close and draw it in! I'll let my anger fuel me! May it burn away my flesh and sear my bones. I care not anymore.

And I tell you this, old man: No one else will ever have to live like this! No one else will ever have to bear a farce like this! I will not allow Alm to awake false hopes and dreams in the people of Valentia! Not for as long as I live! And may your goddamn blade be damned so that it will never protect you! You failed your friend, let that much be known. Because if you hadn't—if you hadn't failed him—he'd still be here with us!"

He studies Sir Mycens face evenly and with a small smirk notices Sir Mycens sudden tenseness.

Berkuts momentary triumph is washed away, however, by a sudden realization. Following Sir Mycens gaze, he turns around, looks up and sees a crowd of Rigelian and Zofian soldiers on the wall-walk.

'How long have they been there? How much have they heard?'

He'd given in to Sir Mycen's provocation and in turn had laid himself bare.

'Such a lack of self-control. To act out like this. Rinea is right. This is truly unacceptable!'

His panicked eyes scan the crowd for one person.

Alm.

But it's impossible to single someone out in a crowd as large as this.

'Well,' he concludes internally. 'It cannot be helped. What's been done has been done. Better use this to my advantage. Not only Alm and I have been wronged by Sir Mycen.'

His attention snaps back to Mycen.

"How much fighting could have been avoided if not for your lies?!" A last accusation, loud enough to be heard by everyone, before he flees the scene still fuming.

* * *

 _Two questions for you: How'd you react as a common soldier to this "revelation" and how would you react as Alm, seeing Berkut and Mycen fight like this?_

 _I like to believe the reason why Sir Mycen was in Rigel castle when Alm arrives in-game, is because he tried to talk King Rudolf out of his plans. Though, I'm not certain. Sir Mycen feels like such a shady character somehow. (Your thoughts?)_

 _A list of influences:_

 _Vampire: The Requiem supplement "Danse Macabre" Prince Maxwel Clarkes confession; Noel by TzviaAriella on ao3, Fate/ stay night, Dr Who, The Ender's game series by Orson Scott, prompts by the modern typewriter tumblr, Good Will Hunting, a quote by Mehmet Murat Ildan and the Romeo and Juliet prologue (there is something inherently funny about fatal loins, though. Wouldn't have come up with Berkuts insult otherwise.)_

 _Since I can't answer anonymous comments in the comment section I thought I'd address it here:_

 _Thank you for pointing out that some of the wording seems ooc. Comments like that help a lot. Especially Sir Mycen calling Berkut a douchebag turned many heads. (Changed it immediatly as soon as it was pointed out.) Sorry for making my dear readers cringe. I might go over this chapter again, so if you have anything to add to the list, please, go ahead._


	4. Wisdom of War

_Enjoy!  
_

* * *

One cannot say that the conflict between Sir Mycen and Berkut had no effect, for just the next day Berkut takes action. At the daily assembly he is present and willing to cooperate.

Murmurs and whispers rise in volume as he enters and suddenly go quiet in repellent expectancy.

For a short moment Berkuts eyes flicker back and forth between each of Alms', as though by trying to catch one of them it would reveal to him the truth about whether or not Alm had seen what had transpired between Mycen and him. He comes to no conclusion and his face returns to a stoic impassiveness, giving nothing away other than an old sense of self-importance.

"My antagonism the other day was out of line," he states, "I have come to understand that I need to respond with a skilled use of soft power to leverage my credibility. What is important now is to reinstate Rigel's strength and create a framework for bilateral cooperation in which I may act as a mediator and responsible actor rather than instigator. I hereby humble myself to my new position and intend to work as a local partner instead of seeking to once again control the discussion by foiling constructive discourse."

It isn't quite an apology. That much is true. But Berkut at least knows that he has to admit that he was wrong and accepts the need of discourse. Nonetheless, the mistrust at Berkuts changed behaviour is palpable.

"I don't like his attitude," Python gripes next to Alm. "He acts like he is the arbiter of all that is good and right in the world and that we should recoil in horror at the thought of displeasing him."

Alm raises his voice. "I know your deeds, your toil and your perseverance. I look forward to working with you, Berkut."

Berkut presses his lips in a hard line and gives a small nod.

Part of him will always chafe at living in Alm's shadow, bound to serve the man who replaced him. There will be no more glory for him, but he will not languish in oblivion either. It isn't much, that knowledge, but it is something.

"About the issue of birthrights-" starts Berkut and takes a deep breath to what is sure to be an onslaught of arguments.

"That decision has been postponed, Berkut," interrupts Alm.

He sees the surprise register on Berkuts face before he manages to hide it.

A small smile plays on Alms lips, 'I guess you didn't expect that.'

Berkuts glower almost vanishes, "It pleases me to know that you've finally seen sense."

"I said postponed, Berkut," says Alm. "Not off the table. It is just that stability is of greater importance right now."

"Yes, of course," Berkut throws Alm a long, clear, calculating look, "I heard you," he says with carefully blank expression.

"Very well then. Celica, please, if you would explain what we were told this morning."

"We were informed that there is a bloody strife going on between two ancient aristocratic families in the zofian parts of the one kingdom. We are far away from Zofia and can not interfere with our army, but there has been enough war. We wish to put an end to this conflict."

"Tsk, that you'd even consider such a strife a problem. An open dispute between Lords? This is nothing. Did you pledge assistance to one or the other during your time in Zofia?"

Both shake their heads and Alm says, "I did not pledge to anyone but the people of Valentia and to myself that I would see Valentia restored to its former glory."

"Good. This conflict should please you greatly," Berkut assures and smirks, "Decrees for peace would only dishonor them. Instead, let the wisdom of war sort them. In the end the strongest will be at your service."

"Lord Berkut, how can you say such a thing?" exclaims Celica, "There must be a better solution than this."

"Your Excellency wishes to stop all war from happening," Berkut addresses her, his voice is disapproving but his eyes soften as he is reminded of Rinea who is currently not present, "Do not burden yourself with something so pointless. The task you have assigned yourself is as futile as stopping a true rigelian winter." What he means by this is of course that there would always be wars, that they were as easy to stop as the turning of the seasons.

But Alm will hear none of this, "Berkut, I wish this to be resolved swiftly and without causing further harm to these Lords and Ladies or their people. I expect you to contribute to a peaceful solution or else you can leave."

Berkut does not look pleased at all.

"Very well then. I shall do all that you command me," answers Berkut with thinly veiled sarcasm and for a moment Alm does think he will simply turn around and leave. But Berkut does no such thing. Instead, Berkut tells Alm and Celica what no one expected at this point, "Know that your concerns are of no matter. I can straighten this out quickly with a minimum of casualties, as per your wish."

The horror he had felt at Berkuts antics is lost in the admiration of his skill.

When speaking it becomes obvious that Berkut is in total command of his subject. He knows the ins and outs of politics. He knows how to leverage the organizational hierarchies of Zofia and Rigel. His knowledge of the high houses of Valentia is vast. He knows exactly who to contact and what is needed to make them follow through. Admittedly, it is more than clear that he is rather aggressive in his use of bonds and recognisances owned to the crown to secure loyalty, but seeing Berkut working like this only shows something that should have been obvious.

That once, he had truly been groomed for success.

And Alm… Alm does not have that. Not in the same way at least. It is true that Sir Mycen prepared him for war, but never for this. It is now more clear to him than ever. He knows nothing of these things. In fact, even as leader of the deliverance the daily affairs were handled by Sir Clive and he must admit, by having spent his life almost exclusively in Ram village, he still knows very little of the world as it is.

And Celica for all her wisdom often lacks a clear structure in how she meets her objectives which significantly affects her success in achieving them. She is the first to have an idea or to demand change and while she is not afraid to assert herself or to take action when it is required, she simply lacks the experience one would have gained at court.

All that Alm knows is that working together, or so it seems, is the most sensible thing to do.

Cooperation, for the sake of the country, is demanded of them and what is demanded must be supplied.

It is something, that knowledge, but it isn't much.

* * *

 _Inspirations for this chapter: Revelation 2:2, Slaughterhouse 5 - Glacier quote by Harrison Starr and a ton of Drarry fics_


	5. Family is everything

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Alm knocks on the heavy wooden door quietly and then waits in silence.

It is midday, but the corridors are empty and not a single person can be seen or heard. It is a strange display, like this section of the castle has been completely abandoned.

His second knock is louder and faster this time.

He stares at the door, unmoving.

"Berkut. I know you're in there."

Alm has come with the will to work out their relationship, with the determination to build on their mutual family history and with the hope that they would be able to reconnect as cousins.

Berkut had shown that he could jump over his own shadow, it is enough of a sign for Alm to give it a try.

A voice can be heard from the other side, but it sounds more like a curse instead of a reply.

With a loud creak, the door slowly opens and reveals Berkut, annoyed and armorless.

"Your Excellency."

"Berkut."

In princely robes of dark purple fabric and golden edging Berkut certainly looks less buff and it is strangely unfamiliar to see him without his armor. He looks thinner and less menacing.

Alm realizes that he likes that.

"I am in no mood for your insolence," Berkut says dismissively, slightly raising his chin and crossing his arms.

Alm shrugs, "I am never in the mood for your insolence and still I indulge you."

"That's because you have no pride," retorts Berkut snidely. "I cannot wound something that isn't there."

"Berkut," begins Alm appeasingly, "I have come here not as your king, but as your cousin."

"Then you insult us both," comes the prompt reply.

"Berkut..." repeats Alm. His tone rebuking and beseeching.

Berkut glares at him, narrow-eyed and frowning.

He contemplates Alm for short seconds and then lets his arms drop to his sides.

"Okay, fine," he intones reluctantly. "State your purpose. If you have one."

"I came to speak to you about father. We are family after all. It shouldn't be so hard to talk to each other."

"You're still going on about that?" comes Berkuts circumspect reply. "Alm, I know I used it as an argument, but even though we share royal blood you can't possibly think of me as family. I have no family nor do I want for one. If that is the only reason why you kept me alive, I'd much rather be dead."

"But you _are_ my family."

"Then there is only one of us who thinks that way about the other and frankly, you shouldn't be here."

And then Berkut shuts the door in Alms face and leaves Alm wondering if he meant _here_ in front of Berkuts private rooms or _here_ as in living and breathing.

Hesitatingly, he lifts his arm again to knock on Berkuts door once more. Berkut opens it and grimaces at him, sighing in resignation.

"You truly are relentless," he complains. "Alm, your father was a father figure to many people, but never to you. That fact won't change even if I tell you about his bravery, or about how he played with me as a child. I can't give you back what he denied you."

"I know that, but I must know what he was like."

"If you want to know that you could just as easily ask the guards in this castle. Or _chancellor_ Mycen. You don't have to come to me. Stop wasting my time."

"Berkut, you knew him far better than they did. Do you hate him so much that you can't even speak about him?"

To Alms surprise, Berkut does look remotely abashed.

"His death changed everything," he says as if it is enough of an explanation, opens the door completely and steps aside, allowing Alm to enter.

"Thank you. Listen Berkut, I've been thinking," says Alm and strolls into the middle of Berkuts room, curiously mustering the interior. The room is dim and shrouded, all the curtains drawn but one. The light coming from a leadlight window stripes over furniture and a desk littered with paper. "You and I, we should—"

— _Bang!_ The slam of the door came like a punctuation.

"Spare me your sycophancy. Your appeals are worthless to me."

Without a word of apology and to give himself the appearance of purpose, Berkut crosses the room in long strides, coming to a halt by the window. Berkut musters him like an intruder and maybe Alm has to admit that he is just that. The hairs on Alms neck are standing on end and his skin prickles. Maybe it was unwise to corner Berkut in his private rooms. After all, it wasn't too long ago when they were still trying to murder each other.

"What exactly do you wish to know about your father?" asks Berkut, his tone brisk and businesslike.

"Hm… I don't know. He did all of these horrible things with the best intentions… I never met him other than on the battlefield… He didn't know me. I didn't know him. Strange, isn't it? Berkut, you lived with him. What was he like?"

Alm joins Berkuts side and the light from the window shrouds them in its brightness. When Berkut turns his head to one side, his face is lit by the white glow from the window.

"A good man. Brave, strong, wise," Berkut lists. "Kind of cheerful. I used to call him a happy fool."

"Hah! Like hell you did!"

"Alright, I didn't," There's a gleam in Berkut's eyes now and a curve to his lips that tries to be played off as innocent amusement but ends up appearing sinister. "He didn't smile much and I finally understand why."

Of course, having sent his beloved son away must have weighed heavily on King Rudolfs conscience, along with all his other worries. What must it have been like to live with a man like him? A man driven by purpose, but without much joy in his life? And, another thought is quite clearly on Berkuts mind as well by the way he is looking at Alm: what would life have been like had these worries not poisoned King Rudolfs mind?

The silence growing between them slowly becomes unbearable and Alm quickly breaks eye contact to look at the world outside.

"You can see the training grounds from up here," Alm observes and allows enthusiasm to slip into the sentence.

Maybe if their focus is shifted. If they can stop, just for one moment, to stare each other down, maybe then it is easier to connect.

Berkuts gaze follows Alms. Together, they observe the snowflakes dancing in the cold winter air. Side glancing - Alm notices how Berkuts gaze becomes pensive.

"Indeed," Berkut says, just as snowflakes begin to lightly dot the panes. "I rarely while away the time, but sometimes I linger here and observe the knights train their squires… Despite all that has happened, the sound of steel clashing against steel is still the most charming sound in the world to me…" he admits carefully. "You see," he clears his throat, his voice returning to a more factual tone. "My father led a training camp for Rigelian soldiers next to our castle in the mountains. I grew up between his men. From the time I could crawl, I was placed on a horse and as soon as I could walk, I held a spear in my hand."

'It's what he tells everyone.' Alm realizes crestfallen. 'The air of importance that accompanies such statements. It is obvious.'

And Berkut must have noticed his own obviousness, too. Because he pauses. Stopping himself from reciting his carefully laid-out self-portrayal. His thoughts clearly shifting. Wavering. And at last, Alm can almost feel it, Berkut makes a decision.

"In truth," he speaks, his voice soft. "Memories of those days are hazy and disjointed, but there is a sight that stayed with me all this time: Weapons shattered everywhere. Bright sparks flying from brazen helmets. A hasty retreat. Snowy fields, red with blood. Torn entrails, severed heads, headless bodies and a pervasive stench lingering above it all. My father's men, devoid of hope, unwilling to keep on fighting; praying for strength when there was none. How I felt seeing them falter. And then, the look of relief on my father's face when my uncle, your father, arrived.

King Rudolf had a real talent; his words strengthened feeble hands, steadied the knees that gave way; he spoke to those with fearful hearts, 'Be strong, do not fear; you will have your vengeance; my swordhand is guided by divine retribution. I have come to save you.'

After this, the men could walk and not become weary, run and not get tired, fight and never grow fearful. With just a few well-chosen words he renewed their spirits and transformed their sheathed swords _into a sea of blades!_

He was the epitome of strength. He turned the battle around and I… I couldn't help but admire the power in your father's way of leading others..."

For a while, they watch the snowfall in absolute silence.

"He must have been remarkable."

"He was," says Berkut. "But he also forced a brutal ending to what should have been a long and happy relationship."

Alm swallows; his voice seems to have deserted him at the realization that Berkut isn't talking about himself, but about Alms relationship to Rudolf.

"Berkut, I can only guess," says Alm at last, "But it seems like he represented much to you that you had never known before… Listen, I... There has been something else I wanted to ask you. That day we encountered you in Duma tower. I must know… why were you there of all places?"

Berkut fidgets, instead of brazingly meeting Alms eyes like he normally would, he is staring at his hands, slowly turning a ring on his finger. His head is bowed as though in prayer and when he finally lifts his gaze to meet Alms eyes, he looks upset.

Alm takes his angry silence as stubbornness.

"Right. I didn't expect a truthful answer anyways," he says disappointed. It is foolish of him to assume Berkut would be honest. "I already know why you were there. You were going to take in dumas power, were you not?"

"Don't be ridiculous," answers Berkut brusquely. "You are the only one in need of divine power. In training, knowledge, experience - I outmatch you completely. I've got a lifetime on you."

"Well, I've heard that you couldn't match me from the start," blurts Alm out, at the same time wishing he hadn't just revealed what he overheard during Berkuts altercation with Sir Mycen.

Berkut gives him a revolted glare and in an outburst of anger withdraws from the white light, melting seamlessly into the shadows.

Berkut is visibly livid with rage, but forces out a singularly humorless laugh. "Don't look so smug, peasant king. I bet you get a real joy out of everyone worshiping the ground you walk on, talking to you and touching you like the divine thing you are. But in actuality you have no clue what you're going to do now. Now that the killing is over. Why don't you tell me again how much you need my help?"

"I didn't mean to offend you, Berkut," says Alm appeasingly, trying to backpaddle.

"I guess you don't know me very well then," replies Berkut with a ringing force that is almost shocking. "because your whole existence is an offense to me!"

"No, I don't know you," agrees Alm. "But the people of Rigel love you. If I knew nothing else about you that would be enough. Listen, we need to stop fighting and start talking."

"If that is so, you'd better stop messing around and start talking. Why are you really here?"

"I'm tired of being alone, Berkut."

Berkut just scoffs. "You are the least alone person I know."

"I want family, Berkut. Something genuine. Let us move on together. Lean on each other's strength. I want to unite Rigel and Zofia into the one kingdom of Valentia—in reality, not just in words. And you are correct, to achieve that I will need all the help and every piece of advice I can get. The country is in a sorry state. The humble are heckled and pillaged by traffickers. Terrors are still roaming. Everywhere the triumph of the unscrupulous, everywhere the apotheosis of the crooked and criminal. It needs to stop. We need to put an end to this."

Berkut sneers. "I marvel at the placidity of the Utopian who imagines that the common man is perfectible. There are limits, Alm. To the human body, the human mind. Tolerances that you can't push beyond. What you ask is impossible."

"Oh _please_!" Alm bursts out. "You don't doubt the existence of virtue!"

"There is virtue-of course there is-and yet even the baseborn will bare their fangs when it seems they can profit. Just look around you and see. Society cynical and ferocious. It's only natural. You think you can make any progress against a stream like that? No, man has never changed. His soul was corrupt in the days of the gods and is not less rotten at present. You think you can eliminate all vermin from the world?" Berkut huffs. "Don't be simple. No one can do that. Not even you. The world is as it always was and will go on as it always did. The people either adapt or die. You want my advice? Here it is: Forget about your senseless ambition, stop spreading lies about how everyone is equal in their pursuits, make your peace with the Lords and Nobles of Rigel and Zofia, secure them as your allies and when the people are so hungry that they come for your head.

Beat. Them. Down.

That, your Excellency, is my advice to you."

Alm recognizes, with a rush of pure loathing, that the man before him has not changed from the man he fought so many times on the battlefield. His muscles tense up and the clenched fists at his sides tremble.

The sheer disappointment he feels is audible in his voice as he speaks. "I knew that you lacked vision, that you had lost sight of the people you are meant to represent and allowed your heart to grow cold and numb to all kindness, but this… your sense of fatalism is truly astounding."

"These people are sheep," Berkut concludes in a darkly significant voice. "And people, like sheep, are ungovernable when hungry. Discontentment breeds rebellion. You do know what happened to Fernand's family, do you not? They are far from the only ones to have suffered such fate. Starvation is a beast and those who suffer it will fight you wherever you are, whenever they can, with any means necessary. You don't even know the danger you're in! You think yourself infallible! The downfall of the empire, the eternal sleep of our gods has shown us one thing: No superpower is immortal. Do not consider yourself supreme. If you fail to prepare yourself for what is to come, you will die with the rest of us. The world is messed up in such a way."

Alms hopes turn to ashes in his mouth. Before, he had had hopes that they could be family. That he could finally have something fixed and stable in his life. Someone to rely on. A relationship of continuity and trust. Something genuine.

But now he starts to ask himself why he should spend so much time trying to be with someone he doesn't really enjoy being around at all. Someone whose values are so severely different from his own.

"You're wrong," counters Alm decisively. "It's not the world that's messed up; it's those of us in it. The genesis of change is awareness. You cannot change what you don't acknowledge and you choose to ignore any and all faults, especially those that lie within yourself. Mistakes can be fixed. Limits can be overcome. We need not prepare for the worst outcome, but face the current problems head-on! When it comes to the state of the world, you can't point your finger at the lower classes or those who have passed from us. We're all to blame and, at the end of the day, we're the only ones who are responsible for not actively changing and shaping the world we live in. It is our responsibility to help these people."

"Nonsense," dismisses Berkut curtly. "Your father wished for man to be strong and self-reliant. You on the other hand only wish to exchange one blind fellowship with another. I agree, humanity must survive; but the truth is simple, you mustn't save everyone to achieve that. Do you think yourself a savior, a saint-a messiah-in a world without gods, Alm?"

"Let me guess who I'm meant to protect in your eyes, then. Royalty and noblemen. Isn't that your truth?! You know integrity only to them."

"You are no peasant, Alm. It is your loyalty that is misplaced, not mine. It lies within a peasant's responsibility to produce crops and livestock. Why save those who, when they fail to do even that, so willingly choose a path that leads into depravity? A man reaps what he sows."

"Then we must sow righteousness!" Alm forces out sharply. "And yes. It is true. Some people walk a path that only leaves sorrow in their wake, but _we_ can choose a different path altogether. You fail to recognize that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be! In fact, I'd much rather be a peasant than to be someone like you!"

Berkut's expression hardens for the most fleeting moment before a bitter smile settles on his features. "What a pair we make, huh? Both trying to hide who we are, both unable to do so. Just look at you, bearer of the brand! Your generosity truly knows no bounds! You want to help all people of Valentia? Good luck with that. The world doesn't always favor those who have set goals. Heh, maybe I'm being compliant—and I know I am—but I will assist you."

Now it's Alm who snorts derisively. "I don't believe you. Just now you've made it quite clear that there is not one helpful, altruistic bone in your body."

"Would you believe me if I said it's not for altruism then? Because it's not."

Alms eyes narrow.

 _Berkut is a danger_. _We both know that,_ Celicas warning flashes through his mind, _he is not to be trusted._

'Berkut, what the hell are you trying to accomplish?'

There is no way he would fall for such a hostile declaration of helpfulness.

"You want to help? Alright then, I have just the right task in mind for you: My coronation is this coming spring, why don't you help organize that?! Why not include some rigelian custom?! After all it is I who is the true heir to the rigelian throne!"

Just as he finishes the sentence he expects Berkut to jump out of the shadows and strangle him. This was surely too much. There is no way Berkuts pride would allow for him to remain calm at such a declaration.

Berkut wavers between anger and contemplation. 'Alm, have you gone mad? By knowing all the details I could easily seize this opportunity and set up an assassination attempt on that day. Even if I don't do that, I could make you look a fool. Is this an elaborate act to go through so you can act like we've grown closer?

But no, I don't see any way that you can predict my actions.

If I refuse to do it out of spite, I'll signal that I am unable to follow simple orders, proving you and everyone else right and barring myself from the little influence I still wield.'

It is all the power he has left and he clings to it like a drowning man clutches at a straw.

'Furthermore, if I ever want to have meaningful influence I'll have to earn your trust.

I suppose I could just play along and organize it, but if anything goes awry, it could still work against me. By asking something like this of me you're just proving that you truly are your father's son. This is interesting, Alm. You are laying the groundwork to use your authority against me? Damn you Alm, you think this is a game? You are not aware that it can be played by two.'

Alm braces himself. But instead of attacking, Berkut spreads his hands, indicating that the discussion is wide open.

"Alright, if it my _distinct honor_ to organize it, you will declare yourself king 'by right of conquest' retroactively from before your march on Zofia castle, thus anyone who has fought against you will be guilty of treason, you can legally confiscate their lands and property and send them and their families to the executioner's blade. Or worse. How does that sound?"

Alm scrunches up his nose. "Berkut, what are you saying? Do you have a deathwish?"

"Oh, forgive me. Does this go against the goodness of your heart? Are you too full of mercy to finally get rid of your enemies?"

This is beneath Alm, and Berkut knows it.

"Is this a joke to you?!" accuses Alm.

"No, but it is to you!" counters Berkut, his voice sharp as a gutting knife _._ "First you ask for my help and once I am willing to provide it you insult me?!"

"Well, excuse me if I don't trust you!" Alm is still taut as a coiled spring in Berkuts presence. "You have not exactly given me a reason to!"

"I gave an oath. I swore on my honor as a knight-"

"Your honor isn't worth much, Berkut. I've not forgotten what happened during the border battle."

Damn it all, this comes down to a choice:

"Hngh- Okay fine!" snaps Berkut. "If you think this abominable favour changes anything, then I'll do it. I'll do it, alright. A token gesture to show the world that I have succumbed to the new king. If this doesn't satisfy you, I don't know what else will." It's true, if Berkut does this, the symbolic effect would be profound and might even inspire support from other Rigelians as well.

But gods, what has he done. Alm has a bad feeling about this. There is _no way_ this can lead to anything good.

Who would have thought that Berkut would actually go for it? If Alm had known that Berkut would be willing to earn his trust, he would have thought of something more proportionate. But this? Berkut will never forget this humiliation.

"You should crown yourself sooner and produce an heir," says Berkut, already two, no- _several_ -steps ahead.

Alms cheeks are instantly on fire. To talk about such a thing so bluntly...

"The coronation is in spring, Berkut. It will be a sign of new beginnings and renewal. Don't worry, I'll be your king soon enough."

Indeed.

Rigels winter might be in full swing, but just a few weeks from now the first trees would flower. That is, if that is still possible at all with the earthmother gone.

"Thank you, Berkut. I…", If looks could kill, Alm would certainly be dead right now. Alm swallows. "Is there anything I can do for you? Do you have a request of some sort?"

"Now that you mention it… Yes I have. It is a simple request, really. You have expressed both: a desire to reconnect with your rigelian heritage as well as a desire to change the concept of birthright. Rigel is a strictly hierarchical society, so this contradictory aspiration is rather bizarre. Allow me to teach you about the system you so desperately wish to change, about your true place in this world. It would be most prudent not to acquaint yourself with our customs and I promise that this will not be to your loss. You know," Berkuts predatory smile makes Alms pulse fly. "It shouldn't be so hard to talk to each other."

 _Before you dream of changing the world learn your damned place in it,_ Alm remembers Sir Mycens last words before he left Ram village quite clearly. Heh, the implication of that statement only dawns on him now.

'That was well-worded, Berkut.' Alm has to admit. 'There is no reason for me to refuse an offer like that, since I myself expressed an interest in your ways. You are laying the groundwork to get to know me better and once you do you will use our kinship against me. You may try to earn my trust, but don't think I would trust you that easily. I'm certain this ruse will buy you time for whatever it is you plan to do.'

"Sounds good to me," consents Alm.

'Obviously, this whole thing is nothing more than a contest between us.

A match of goodwill.

A tit-for-tat.

On the surface we'll be friendly, but in reality we'll actually be trying to control each other.'

If Alm could pinpoint anything that could even come close to a relationship cousins of the same age should have, it would be the feelings of rivalry between them.

Just before leaving, Alm remembers one last question. "What about your father, Berkut? Your parents. What happened to them?"

"I can't tell you."

"Can't or won't?"

"Fine. Won't. Either way, it's not your goddamn business so just take the hint and drop it. Give it a rest already and leave me be," and there it is again, that infuriating smugness. "I've got a coronation to plan."

* * *

Inspiration: prompts by the modern typewriter tumblr, Death note episode: doubt (for internal shenanigans), John Muir quote (people are like sheep), Joris-Karl Huysmans quote (society cynical and ferocious), Henry VII of England actually proclaimed himself king retroactively, Fate stay/night (shirou's memories), Saving private Ryan (Happy idiot), Kaneki Ken (Tokyo Ghoul), a knight's tale, bible: a man reaps what he sows, Medicine in the Crusades, drarry fanfics, Harry Potter and the half blood prince, Hachiman Hikigaya (Yahari Ore No Seishun Love Come Wa Machigatteiru) quote.


	6. (not) above suspicion

_Alm guides her down a lighted corridor by putting his hand on the small of her back. They are both dressed in formal wear and he looks smart in his lavishly decorated doublet and breeches. He runs his hand lovingly through her hair. There is so much confidence and assurance in his smile that she can not help but feel perfectly at ease._

 _Then a door creaks open and her attention shifts. Sounds of muted conversation. A crowd. Heated arguments. Then a commotion. It comes to a scruffle. She should intervene, but doesn't. Her eyes widen in horror at what she sees. For pity's sake, she just stands there and does nothing as they..._

 _She gets pulled away from the scene. Ice-wind dust whirls into her face._

 _There is the sound of steel grinding against steel. One final blow and Berkut is standing above Alm. A blade at his throat._

 _She runs as fast as she can and screams, "Earth mother! Give me the strength to protect what is dear!" She is almost there._

 _Berkut is smirking._

 _The snow shoots into the air with every step she takes._

 _Almost._

" _You are dead," he states towards Alm._

 _A hand reaches for her and… she hears the chime of a big bell traveling across the distance._

' _NO!'_

Celica jerks awake. She is gasping for breath and her hand is shaking as she brings it to her mouth trying to hush the sob that wants to escape. Silent tears are tracking down her cheeks. She looks around her room, but her private chamber lies in complete silence. Everything seems normal.

It was a dream. A vision.

"Mother Mila, what are you trying to tell me?"

This dream, it was different to the visions she had before. Whenever Mila gave her sight, she had been shown exactly what was going to happen and she had been given a chance to change the future for the better and even though she had failed to so, Milas message had been clear to her from the start. Her dream now, however, is different. Jumbled up. Disjointed.

She lies back down and tries to think clearly. Mother Mila is no longer, she has sunken into eternal slumber. So maybe her dream is just that: A dream. Maybe her subconscious is just playing tricks on her.

And yet, she can not help but wonder. Are the gods powers still floating about in Valentia? Does Mila try to tell her not to trust Lord Berkut? Just the thought of Alm getting hurt keeps her wide awake, so she gets out of bed and slips into her robe. She leaves her chamber and wanders down the dark corridors of Rigel castle.

As she turns around a corner, she hears the sniveling sound of someone trying to muffle their cries coming from the parlor. Celica follows the sound and opens the door. There at the window embrasure with cushioned seats, Rinea sits, crumpling her gauzy blue night dress under her, hiding her face in her slender fingers and sobbing so convulsively that her shoulders shake.

"Rinea, is that you?" Celica says cordially upon recognizing her. "Are you alright?"

Rinea glances up at her while furiously wiping at her face to eliminate the traces of her tears. "Nevermind me," she says and forces a smile, while her glassy eyes betray her true feelings.

"I can see that you are not alright," Celica says and slips into the seat opposite to Rinea. They are only separated by the table between them. A small, decorative fire bowl sits on top of it. The dim light lets their shadows flicker over the stonewalls and the pungent smell coming from the bonewalker oil reaches her nose. "I know we haven't had the chance to get to know each other, but I've been told that I'm a good listener. So if you need someone to talk to. I'm here."

At that Rinea sighs. "I'd talk, but... I doubt you could possibly understand."

"Try me," says Celica in a soft tone.

"I had a dream, a horrible dream… Berkut he… he would never… he told me himself… but still I should not cry. But you can't… no one can understand what a soul he has!"

And Rinea crys again because he has such a noble soul.

"It's all very well for you," Rinea continues, trying to explain. "I am not envious. I will cause you no difficulties, but the Rigelian people… one would have to… and even then it can't be done. I— I really don't know what to say. All I can say is— I have known Lord Berkut a long time and I've seen him interact with people—even people he has contempt for—but I've never seen him like this before—ever with anyone—like how he is with you people. It's just… it is a terrible thing to want happiness but not know what to do with peace, we were raised on war and he has learnt to love fighting. Despite this, he loves gently, arms laid down, and that is the version of him I fell in love with... I am so grateful to him that I would willingly sacrifice everything, only I have nothing…" And again she begins to sob, more bitterly than before.

Celica starts to feel awkward. It is true that she doesn't understand how Rinea can see such virtue in Berkut.

"Rinea, what exactly is it that _you_ see in him? Speaking plainly, you two seem to be quite different in nature."

"Ah," understanding flickers in Rineas eyes and her expression turns into one of deep rooted sadness, "What you are implying is true. He encompasses all that is good and well in Rigel. I am most unworthy of Lord Berkuts presence and even more so of his affections."

Celica gapes. That is not at all what she meant. "You don't actually believe that."

Rinea glances up, the look on her face heartbreaking. Because oh, she actually does. And oh, Celica can't stand it.

Celica grits her teeth, and crowds a little closer, lowering her voice. "Look. If Berkut has hurt you – told you that – if he has got something on you—"

And now Rineas face changes to utter confusion. "No— I— "

"We can protect you."

"Celica—"

"Let me help you."

"Celica!"

"Rinea, you can tell me the truth."

"Berkut has only ever been kind to me. There is nothing sinister transpiring between us. I can promise you that. …Alright?"

Celica musters Rineas swollen face for any signs of untruth.

"Alright," Celica says at last, still not completely convinced. "Then why would you think so little of yourself?"

"Oh, isn't it obvious?" Rineas shoulders droop even more. "No one but him has ever told me otherwise."

"This cannot be true."

"Why? Do you think I would lie about a thing like that? Life at court has always been difficult for me. It is hard for me to find favour amongst the high houses. I have many enemies and I often find myself praying for them, so that Berkut will have mercy on them should any harm befall me."

Celica is shocked. "That sounds horrid."

"What seems to you horrid is merely, to me, a hardship. To endure hardship as discipline is the Rigelian way."

This is a strange philosophy to Celica, who always retaliates with equal measure. Are these really Dumas teachings? She had always thought that Duma taught his disciples to be aggressive and to attack first, not that he would have taught perseverance and restraint. She has to admit that there is a deep-seated kindness in enduring undeserved suffering.

"That is why I believe in being kind to people," continues Rinea. "Because people have not been kind to me. That is what Mila teaches as well, is it not?"

"Not at all. Those who inflict suffering should be held accountable. To turn the other cheek like you do… is a foreign concept. And I don't understand, what good is such hardship if it is just going to cause you pain?"

"I suppose you wouldn't know, would you?!"

Celica startles. "Excuse me?"

"Nothing," says Rinea. "Forgive me. I shouldn't have said anything."

"No, I must insist," Celica says, suspective. "You cannot make such a statement and leave it unclarified."

"You are Limas child." It is a statement and a judgement at the same time. Celicas cheeks burn in shame for her father. That even Rinea seems to have preconceived opinions about her is shocking. It just shows how deeply her father wounded this nation.

"I am not my father," she forces out between clenched teeth. "And I'll make sure I never become like him."

"You will be our queen. No one denies that."

"But you think I will bring sexual immorality, impurity, idolatry, orgies, and things like these. I know the sins of my father and I don't stand for them. Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, pleasure. Those are Milas teachings."

Rineas eyes have become big and round, while her brow creases like she has a hard time comprehending. "But… pleasure is the root of all sins."

"Sinful? Corrupt? I don't understand this logic, Rinea. Why must pleasure and sin be connected? Pleasure gotten through evil means could be a sin. But pleasure can also result from good deeds. What kind of philosophy calls pleasure itself a sin?"

"Lord Dumas teachings do. But it hardly matters now, does it? The gods are gone and I can't help but think… but think… that I am heartless and ungrateful for being glad about that. And what for? Surely, things can not go on without them!"

"Rinea, don't believe that! Don't believe that. Don't you remember how we, Alm and Berkut, all four of us settled how everything was to be. Don't you remember Alms speech that it could all be arranged and how nice it all was? Nevermind the court, nevermind the gods absence, all will come right in the end."

"Do you think so, truly?"

"Really, truly!" answers Celica.

Rinea can't help but smile at the thought of everything turning out alright. "I'd really like to believe it does. You are kind, Celica and I can't help but trust in your words. Forgive me if I said anything that upset you. I didn't mean to."

"There is nothing to forgive. You told me what every Rigelian must be thinking. I need to prove myself to your people. But I have faith. In humanity. In unity. Valentia will prosper."

"Celica, thank you. Thank you for listening to me. I fell into the habit of not saying what I really felt, somewhere along the way. And then I started believing that there wasn't anything... that I really wanted to tell anyone."

"Rinea…" Celica glances at Rineas face that is somewhat turned away, and she feels endless compassion for Rinea. And so in order to console her, she reaches out and their hands brush on the table. Before Celicas hand can close around Rineas however, Rinea pulls back.

The moment between them is lost and Rinea looks guilty, like she remembers that she has already said too much."Listen I... I should be going…" she says without meeting Celicas eyes. "It wouldn't be proper to oversleep." And Rinea gets up, makes a curtsy and hurries out of the room.

Celica stays there for a moment and stares into the flames. Then, something glitters just where Rinea sat before.

A memory prism.

* * *

Inspiration:

Caesar's wife must be above suspicion. - Julius Caesar

prompts by the modern typewriter (tumblr) and chapter XX of war and peace by Leo Tolstoy. (Which is great!)


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